


Things We Lost in the Fire

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daenerys laughed. “The fire cannot touch me. I feel the heat, I feel it inside me, like a source of power. It cannot harm me,” she sighed down at her ruined dress and short, burnt hair. “Though the same cannot be said for my clothes.”</p><p>Wordlessly, Sandor detached his cloak and wrapped it round the queen’s body.</p><p>He froze.</p><p>His mind was suddenly dragged back to a moment far away, as he had wrapped his cloak around a frightened girl, with auburn hair, as she sat sobbing on the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Read Them All One Day when Loneliness Came and You were Away

Sandor Clegane was not entirely sure what he was doing here. He stared up at the palace where Queen Daenerys was; the walls were cream and there were crowds of people coming in and out. The hot Dornish sun beat down on Sandor’s back and he felt slightly nauseous. Sandor was not used to the heat and he didn’t understand how anyone else could bear it. Sandor stared at the citizens; content in the warm morning sun. Children were playing in the fountains and shrieks of laughter could be heard. But everywhere he went, he met the familiar stares. Sandor was aware that he stuck out even more here than back North. Sunspear was like a beautiful King’s Landing

 _‘And it doesn’t stink of piss,’_ Sandor thought.

Sandor had left The Quiet Isles, unsure of where to go. The time he had spent there had been good, his temper had been cooled and he no longer felt like killing all the time, his leg had also wounded leaving only a tiny limp. However, Sandor had had enough of the hard labour of the fields and the peacefulness of the island. He had been seeking out work when he overheard a conversation in an inn about the Silver Queen who had sailed to Dorne and was slowly beginning a rebellion to claim the throne back as the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Fleetingly he had thought of joining her cause, but it was simply a passing thought. However as time had gone on, Sandor had begun to find the idea appealing. The Hound was dead and Sandor Clegane was a new man and he needed a new cause to serve. A leader he wished to serve and who wouldn’t throw him into the fucking flames like that bloody imp.

Sandor sneered at the thought and pressed on into the palace. 

The hall used as a waiting area to take audience with the queen was large; a green dome covered the ceiling and a great mosaic of a dragon decorated one of the walls. The whole room was buzzing with noise and Sandor shouldered past the citizens to wait in line, his head far above them. He ignored the stares, now getting used to them again, and thought on all he had heard of the queen. 

She was said to be beautiful; with long silver hair and bright lilac eyes, as was the way with Targaryens. She had sailed from Meereen following the suspicious death of her husband and onslaught she had received from Yunkai. Dorne had always been fiercely loyal to the Targaryens so to Sandor it seemed an obvious place for her to go. Daenerys had been given her own palace in the heart of the city, and it was said that she would soon be wed to one of the Martells. 

Suddenly the huge oak doors separating the hall and the queen’s audience chambers were opened and Sandor was led through. He immediately wrinkled his nose as the smell of smoke hit him but he thought nothing of it. 

The queen sat on a white bench on a raised dais surrounded by guards. She was just as stunning as the stories told, although Sandor could not help but wonder how old she was.  
He saw a sudden flash of steel from beside her and recognised Ser Barristan Selmy drawing his sword. Sandor’s mouth opened slightly at the sight of him. Since his dismissal from the king’s guard he had gone off the radar.

“Clegane! What in seven hells are you doing here?” Ser Barristan yelled, his voice full of anger.

All around the queen the rest of her guards were unsheathing their swords and Sandor saw Jorah Mormont among them. But the queen merely sat staring at him, unfazed by the scene unfolding in front of her.

Gritting his teeth, Sandor kneeled, feeling vulnerable without armour or a weapon to protect himself. 

“I have come across the land to pledge my loyalty to Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. I am Sandor Clegane and I am yours to command, your grace,” He said, keeping his eyes on the guards.

Daenerys smiled at him. “It seems I am growing popular. You are not the first to cross the land to join me, I assume by his reaction that you are acquainted with Ser Barristan Selmy and you may also recognise Ser Jorah Mormont.”

Ser Jorah leaned over to her. “Your grace, this man is not to be trusted. He works for the Lannisters and the Iron Throne. He goes by the name The Hound, he is a vicious killer and lacks any compassion.”

Sandor stood up and curled his hands into fists, attempting to keep his temper under control, feeling the rage begin to churn inside him. “I am not The Hound any longer. I’ve had enough of those Lannisters,” he growled. 

“Khaleesi, he is lying,” Mormont hissed.

Daenerys held up a hand, “Ser, you of all people should know that men can change. You have known deep regret for your past actions and yet you redeemed yourself, I see no reason that this man may not do the same.”

Sandor had no clue what they were talking about, but whatever it was silenced Mormont and he turned away like a sulky child.

Daenerys turned to Barristan Selmy. “And what do you say, Ser?”

Selmy had dropped his sword but still eyed Sandor carefully. “I don’t believe he poses a threat, he is a vicious killer, but he is also loyal and fearless. We should still be cautious.”

Daenerys nodded and readjusted herself on the bench. “I must say, ser, those are impressive scars, how did you come about them?”

Sandor scowled. “Fire. And I’m no knight.”

Daenerys smiled, a gleam appearing in her lilac eyes. “I am no stranger to fire.”

Sandor eyed her warily; now he had been introduced to Daenerys, he began to feel uneasy in her presence. Why was that? She was a young girl, gorgeous but not a threat, yet Sandor felt he should keep his distance. 

He watched as Selmy and Mormont exchanged small smiles and Sandor frowned deeper. 

Daenerys cleared her throat. “Sandor Clegane, I welcome you to my Queensguard. I believe I shall now call my audience to a close and continue on the morrow.”

The queen stood up and her guards fell into place around her. Sandor joined on the end, flinching away from Daenerys as she swept past him. Mormont came to walk beside Sandor.

“If you ever touch her,” he muttered. “I will kill you like a dog in the street.”

Sandor snorted. “Don’t worry, you can keep your little queen, she’s of no interest to me.”

Jorah did not reply, but went to stand by Daenerys, a little too eagerly. 

 

The rest of the morning Sandor spent getting his armour, slightly on the small side, and being informed of his duties as a member of the Queensguard, though he knew many of them already. In the afternoon, the queen and her guards did a patrol of the city, accompanied by her blood riders. Daenerys felt it important that the people see her as someone to look up to and love rather than fear. Sandor recalled the riot in King’s Landing and thought on how different it was here in Dorne. Everywhere they went, the people would reach up and touch Daenerys, whispering words of praise and love. Daenerys smiled down at them like a mother to her children, returning their gestures gracefully.  
During the middle of the day, the sun was at its hottest and Sandor felt sweat gathering under his neck. He grimaced, wondering if he would ever get used to the sweltering temperatures. The sound of the market filled the air and the smell of cinnamon and other spices wafted past as the citizens sold their wares, occasionally offering presents to Daenerys.

Ser Barristan rode beside Sandor, watching Daenerys with a smile on his face. 

“A natural isn’t she,” the old knight said.

“She’s like no ruler I’ve ever seen,” Sandor admitted.

“I believe she will make an excellent queen. Leaders need to be fierce and brave, yet kind as well. Daenerys is like her brother, Rhaegar, in that regard,” Ser Barristan continued. “Though it was not always this easy.”

Sandor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Her grace received a great deal of trouble back in Meereen, I believe the free cities were simply not ready to free their slaves. They believed Daenerys was cruel and hard, taking away a huge source of their income, but she was simply doing what she thought was right. A leader’s hands are never clean and Daenerys learnt that a very long time ago. Yet here, in Dorne, she is seen as a saviour, a beacon of hope following The Red Viper’s death.”

Sandor’s expression clouded over. “Gregor’s work.”

Barristan nodded. “Your brother...”

“I’m nothing like my brother,” Sandor growled.

Barristan smiled slightly. “I can see that. I believe you will do well serving her grace.”

Sandor closed his eyes for a moment, pushing the rage down as he acknowledged once more that he would never have the chance to feel Gregor’s life slip through his fingers as Sandor had wished for so long. 

As they rode through the narrow streets of Sunspear, Sandor felt a sudden flicker of fear at the smell of fire.

“That smell,” he murmured.

“The dog’s nose is still sharp I see,” Ser Jorah smirked.

Daenerys looked around, searching for the source. They saw it as they entered a small square, one of the houses was a blaze, the fire building higher and higher. Sandor’s horse shied away, sensing his fear. The guards dismounted.

“Stay back, Khaleesi!” Mormont shouted as he ran to the fountain that stood in the centre of the square, helping the other citizens carry water to the blaze. 

Sandor stayed rooted to the spot, watching the flames with terror as they seemed to reach out towards him, he could feel the heat on his face.

A woman and a child were stood by the house being held back by two men as they cried out, reaching up towards the house. 

Daenerys dismounted and Sandor followed, making sure to keep clear of the fire. 

“What’s going on?” Daenerys asked her guards as she looked from the house to the mother. 

Ser Barristan grimaced. “It seems there is still a child inside.”

Sandor watched as Daenerys slowly turned towards Ser Jorah, a determined look on her face.

Mormont’s eyes widened. “No, Khaleesi, no. It’s too dangerous-”

But he was cut short as Daenerys dashed forward without so much as a glance backwards and hurled herself into the flames.

Sandor’s mouth dropped open and he made to run after her, but the flames were too much. The heat pouring off them, and Sandor heard the familiar screams in his mind, drowning out his thoughts. He gritted his teeth and looked at the others.

“Is that girl insane?” Sandor roared.

Ser Barristan began to walk towards the house, but Ser Jorah put his arm out, stopping him.

“We have to go after her! The fate of Westeros lies with her!” Barristan yelled.

Her blood riders shook their heads. “Khaleesi will return.”

“Are you mad?” Sandor hissed. “No man could ever survive those flames.”

Mormont looked desperately into the flames, an expression of deep pain on his face. “Just wait.”

_“Wait?” Ser Barristan cried. “That is our _queen,_ we must help her!”_

“How?” Sandor snarled. “I get she’s important but I am not going anywhere near those fucking flames.”

Ser Barristan opened his mouth to argue, but instead tightened his jaw and kept his eyes fixed on the flames. It seemed to go on for hours as the men waited to see if Daenerys would return.

“Seven hells,” Sandor muttered. “Does that girl have a death wish?”

He thought of the way her silver hair had streamed behind her as she jumped into the flames, so determined, not relying on anyone else, simply on her instincts. But bravery doesn’t help when you’re dead.

There was a sudden crash from inside the building and they watched in horror as part of the roof caved in.

“Blood of my blood!” cried her blood rider, Jhogo. 

Suddenly out of the flames, she appeared. Her dress burnt away, barely covering her naked body, flames dancing in her hair, her expression with that same determined look. In her arms she clutched a small boy to her chest protectively, like a mother.

She jumped gracefully out of the building and went to the woman and handed her the child. The woman fell to the ground with relief, cradling her child, thanking Daenerys over and over.

Sandor could not keep his eyes off the girl. She was completely unharmed. 

Sensing his gaze, Daenerys came over to him. “Surprised?”

Mormont smiled with relief, as did her blood riders, obviously aware of how her immunity to the flames. Ser Barristan, however, seemed as shocked as Sandor.  
“I have... I have never heard of this before,” he said, running a hand over his head. “The Targaryens were more tolerant of fire, yes, but _immune_...”

Sandor gaped at her. “You- you just- you’re not hurt?”

Daenerys shook her head. “The fire cannot touch me. I feel the heat, I feel it inside me, like a source of power. It cannot harm me,” she sighed down at her ruined dress and short, burnt hair. “Though the same cannot be said for my clothes.”

Wordlessly, Sandor detached his cloak and wrapped it round the queen’s body.

He froze.

His mind was suddenly dragged back to a moment far away, as he had wrapped his cloak around a girl with auburn hair as she sat sobbing on the floor.

Sandor felt lost in the memory for some time, until Daenerys’s voice dragged him to the present.

“Are you alright?” she asked, sensing his sudden change.

Sandor nodded, numbly and backed away slightly, pushing the memory away. It was a long time ago.

 

It was late at night and Sandor lay on his bed in the Queensguard quarters, unable to sleep. Recalling the memory of the little bird after so many years was like opening the flood gates; he could not stop the images of the girl as she danced through his mind, with her frightened eyes and well learnt courtesies. Sandor found himself wondering where she was and whether she was happy now. Thinking of her seemed to immobilise his body, as though he were incapable of anything else other than recalling her face and voice.  
There came the sound of footsteps by the door and Sandor turned to see Ser Barristan looking at him.

“Her Grace wishes to see you,” he said.

Sandor frowned at the late hour but nodded and set about getting changed. 

Once he was done, Sandor walked through the corridors of the palace towards the queen’s chambers, grateful for the cool temperature. Sandor hesitated by her door, still feeling slightly wary of Daenerys, though still unsure of the reason. He nodded at The Unsullied who guarded the door and opened it for him. 

“Your Grace?” Sandor called, uncertainly.

“Come in,” Daenerys sang back.

Sandor entered the room and took in the tranquillity of her room, simplistic yet elegant. He saw Daenerys sat on a cushion in the middle of the room, surrounded by three dragons.

“Fucking hell!” Sandor jumped back, his hand reaching for the hilt of the sword.

At the anger and fear in his voice, the dragons raised their heads suddenly and hissed at him. They were definitely real. The ferocious beasts, capable of killing thousands of people and burning cities to ashes, were curled up around Daenerys like sleeping babes. 

“What are those things doing here?” Sandor hissed.

Daenerys cocked her head to one side. “I assumed you knew.”

“What, that dragons had returned? No, I missed that raven,” He snapped, backing against the wall.

The black one stared at Sandor and coughed a small burst of flames in his direction which Sandor shrunk back from. 

“Now now, children, you’re scaring our guest,” Daenerys said, stroking their scales. 

Sandor stared at her, what the hell _was_ this girl?

With another hiss at Sandor, the three of them slunk away, disappearing into an adjoined room, curtained off from the queen’s.

“You want to explain all that?” Sandor said, bewildered.

Daenerys sighed and crossed the room to a little pond by the window. She sat down on its edge and dangled her legs in the turquoise water. “It’s a long story.”

“No kidding,” Sandor muttered.

Daenerys smiled at him. “Come, sit.”

Sandor hesitated, still feeling wary of her, but he went over all the same, sitting on the other side of the pond. Daenerys looked out of the window, staring up at the dark sky.  
Sandor took the opportunity to study the girl more closely. Her hair had been burnt away by the fire leaving it short, but retaining its silver glow. Her skin was pale and her eyes were a soft lilac, shining in the light. She suddenly seemed wiser beyond her years as she looked into the distance. This was a girl who had known pain and suffering, Sandor knew.

“Why did you do that today?” He asked, curious.

Daenerys looked back at him. “These people are my children and I wanted to protect them.”

“You could have been killed,” he replied in a low voice.

“The fire is a part of me,” Daenerys said, her voice calm. “Just as it is for you.”

Sandor glared at her. “What's that supposed mean?”

“Fear is a part of us just as everything else is,” she replied.

“I’m not afraid of fire,” Sandor snarled.

Daenerys smiled. “Have it your way.”

An awkward silence ruled over the two of them for some time and Sandor scratched his head, feeling uncomfortable.

“Is it the same for all Targaryens?” He asked.

“No, my brother was vulnerable to heat... He was weak and cruel and I am better off without him,” Daenerys said in a cool voice, but there was a hint of sadness there as well. 

Sandor wondered how this girl had managed to survive so far, with nobody there to help her, and now she was to become Queen of The Seven Kingdoms. Sandor felt that in that moment he was seeing nothing but a lonely little girl and that thought made his heart pang, recalling another girl who sung the same song. 

“So you see, I have no family left, but I am mother to thousands,” Daenerys smiled radiantly. 

Sandor stared at her as his thoughts once again danced to the girl with the auburn hair, as she sung to him, her voice sweet yet full of fear. She and Daenerys were very alike and the thought scared Sandor. 

Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine,” Sandor growled, looking away. But then he thought he had scared her, like he used to scare the little bird and he looked back slightly, anxious. However Daenerys was simply looking at him, her head on one side.

“It’s just,” Sandor gazed down at the pool, his reflection staring back. “You remind me of someone.”

Daenerys’s look softened. “What was her name?”

Sandor remained silent, afraid to open the gates of those memories open once more. Afraid that her bright blue eyes and auburn hair would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Sansa,” he murmured.

“What was she like?” Daenerys asked gently.

“She was,” Sandor began. “She was naive, gods, she was naive,” he snorted. “She was all sweetness and innocence, always dreaming of knights in shining armour, she didn’t know any better. At least in the beginning. She was afraid of me of course,” he laughed. “But sometimes....” Sandor trailed off, remembering how Sansa had held his cheek so gently that night in her chambers. 

Daenerys smiled. “She sounds like a sweet girl.”

Sandor said nothing, not wanting to talk about her anymore.

A ghost of the past, that was all.

However the ghost followed Sandor back to his room and danced through his dreams until he eventually woke up some hours later, wide awake, and stared at the ceiling. He found himself wondering whether the little bird was still asleep. Sandor laughed. Probably dreaming of her knights. 

But then again, Sandor thought, Daenerys and Sansa were probably of the same age and Daenerys had probably dreamed of such things when she was younger, yet now she held the presence of a full grown woman, wise and level headed with only glimpses of the little girl she had once been. With that thought, Sandor wondered whether Sansa had changed much. Sandor closed his eyes as he tried to imagine what his little bird would be like now, what she would look. He imagined things he had never seen; her smiling up at him, waking up beside him and kissing him as he took her in his arms.

Sansa continued to flutter through his dreams until dawn and the song of birds ushered in a new morning.


	2. We Sat Apart and Watched All We had Burned on the Pyre

Sandor stood in a large courtyard behind the palace, the sun warming his back comfortably as he guarded Daenerys, though he doubted she needed it at this moment in time. Her three dragons chased her as she danced away, laughing. Sandor had been amazed at how quickly the three of them were growing, so Daenerys kept them here with great iron bars enclosing them, yet allowing them to feel the sun and stretch their wings. Sandor had begun to get used to the dragons after months of being here in Dorne, although he kept a close eye on the black one, Drogon, who seemed to be the most threatening. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Drogon’s head suddenly snapped back at Sandor and he hissed, to which Sandor replied with a growl.

“Play nicely,” Daenerys sung as she scratched the white one, Viserion, under the chin as he closed his eyes. 

Daenerys had told Sandor how, in Meereen, she had kept the dragons in chains as she wrestled to keep the city’s peace, however she had vowed to never do such a thing again and instead set about training them. Here in Dorne much more was known of dragons, due to their links to House Targaryen, and so Daenerys had managed to learn much about them.

“Drogon,” Daenerys called, and the dragon turned his attention to the queen. “Dracarys,” she said, as she flung a piece of meat into the air and Drogon let out a stream of fire, snapping up the charcoaled meat in one bite. Sandor was now familiar with that word and kept his distance, however he noticed that Daenerys was completely unfazed by the flames and seemed almost hypnotised by them.

Presently Ser Barristan entered through the iron gate leading into the courtyard and chuckled at the scene. While holding court and amongst guests, Daenerys was the queen; her pose regal, her actions composed, her expression cool, but when she was with the dragons, Daenerys was much less contained and let herself laugh freely as she tossed them pieces of meat and let them chase after the trail of her dress. 

“Your Grace,” the old knight said. “There’s someone I think you should meet.”

Daenerys looked at him curiously. “Alright,” she said, smoothing down her dress.

She following him back into the palace, Sandor trailing after them, giving one last warning glance at Drogon. They walked through the cool corridors until they reached one of the large halls used for feasts. Daenerys sat on her raised ebony chair and awaited the person’s arrival. Sandor thought nothing of it as the queen often received guests; however something in the way Ser Barristan had smiled had caught his attention.

The oak doors at the back of the hall opened and a tall girl entered the room. Her walk was almost ghost like, her posture graceful, yet she kept her head down. Her hair was slightly tangled and her skin was an unhealthy grey. She was different, but Sandor would have known that girl anywhere.

Sansa.

Sandor felt his heart begin to race at the realisation that she was here, in Dorne. She came to the dais and knelt before the queen, her long red hair curtaining around her slender face. 

Ser Barristan stepped forward beside the queen. “Your grace, it is my pleasure to introduce-”

But the girl cut him off, “Safaya!” she said, looking up almost desperately. “My name is Safaya, your grace, and I wish to serve as your handmaid,” the girl dropped her head once more.

Sansa was here. Sandor could not believe the vision in front of him, as if she had stepped straight out of one of his dreams. He remembered the last time she had knelt before her ruler, his cloak wrapped around her shaking body. A sudden rush of emotion overcame Sandor and he was torn between going to her side and staying where he was. 

Daenerys raised her eyebrows. “This is a rather peculiar request,” she said, turning to Ser Barristan who was frowning at Sansa. Sandor saw heat rushing to her face as she kept her fearful eyes on the floor.

Ser Barristan relaxed his face. “Your grace, I believe this girl will make an excellent handmaid.”

Daenerys continued to look at Sansa, obviously still confused.

“Besides,” Ser Barristan said quietly. “She has nowhere else to go.”

At that, Daenerys’s expression softened and she smiled at Sansa. At that gesture, Sandor realised he was holding his breath and let it out.

“Come,” the queen said, standing. “You must be hungry.”

Sansa smiled, relieved, and stood up, looking around at those standing beside the queen. 

Her eyes locked on Sandor’s.

Sandor saw a visible shock run through her body and she darted her eyes away from him, then back, a blush appearing on her cheeks. She fiddled with her dress and she seemed to be trying to keep her gaze from Sandor but failing to do so.

Daenerys, appearing not to notice, took Sansa by the arm and lead her across the room towards a door. Sansa looked back momentarily at Sandor before disappearing into another room.

Sandor ran a hand through his bedraggled hair, his heart still racing. 

_‘What in the seven hells is that girl doing here?’ He thought angrily._

Sandor gritted his teeth as he thought of how profound the impact was that the little bird still had on him, even after all this time. 

 

Over the next couple of days, Sandor did not see much of Sansa as her duties lay within the queen’s room; preparing her baths, clothes and hair, whereas Sandor’s lay outside, guarding her door. One morning that week, Daenerys sat breaking her fast with Sansa, as she had insisted, and Sandor stood by the door alongside Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah. It seemed to Sandor that Daenerys treated her handmaids more like friends than servants; as she did with her other handmaids, Irri and Jhiqui, and her scribe, Missandei. 

“Tell me, Safaya, have you been in Dorne long?” Daenerys asked as she popped a piece of pear into her mouth.

Sansa shook her head.

“You simply _must_ see Sunspear, it’s a beautiful city,” Daenerys turned to Ser Barristan. “Ser, what is my day looking like?”

“You are to spend with the day with the prince of Dorne, accompanied by the Sand Snakes,” he replied.

Daenerys smiled, Sandor knowing how fond she had grown of The Red Viper’s natural daughters. “Perhaps one of my Kingsguard might escort you?” 

Ser Jorah looked away, obviously wishing to remain close to Daenerys, but Ser Barristan opened his mouth as if to accept and Sandor felt a rush of panic.

“I’ll do it,” he grunted.

Sandor glanced at Sansa, suddenly anxious of her reaction, but she looked down at her lap. Sandor wondered whether he had made a mistake, perhaps she was still afraid of him.

 

The two of them walked through the city later that day and Sandor found their circumstances surreal, having Sansa there beside him once more. It was a warm afternoon and the people of Sunspear were washing their clothes in the fountains while their children ran about playing games in the cool water.

As Sansa took in the city around her, Sandor continued to steal glances at her, unable to register that she was _here_. Her skin had recovered its healthy glow and her hair was back to its shiny auburn colour, to Sandor’s relief. He couldn’t also help but notice how her body’s shape had changed too; her simple dress clinging to her curves and he tore his gaze away hurriedly. 

“It’s so different to King’s Landing,” Sansa breathed.

“You’re not likely to find bowls of brown here that’s for sure,” Sandor rasped.

Sansa giggled and he was taken aback at the honesty in the noise, had he ever heard Sansa laugh before?

“Thank you for doing this,” she said.

Sandor said nothing until Sansa looked up at him and smiled, unflinching at his scars.

“You’re not afraid to look now, the little bird has grown bold,” Sandor observed.

A queer look came upon Sansa’s face and she looked away. “I’ve seen much worse than a couple of scars since the last time I saw you.”

Sandor noticed now just how much older Sansa looked, her face looked suddenly worn, her eyes tired, as though she had let her smiling mask fall for a moment. Sandor wondered just how much pain the little bird had seen since that night during The Battle of the Blackwater.

Sansa looked back at him and smiled, her face regaining its composure. “You’ve changed too.”

Sandor frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

Sansa looked thoughtful for a moment. “Before, you were like an unruly flame; you were so wild and unpredictable, like I never knew where I stood with you. But now you’re more gentle; like the remaining embers of a fire.”

Sandor raised an eyebrow at the object of her comparison to which she laughed.

They had reached a small plaza overlooking the sea and they stood looking out across the water. Sandor suddenly heard a commotion behind him and saw two young boys fighting; one being noticeably bigger than the other as he held the smaller down on the ground. Sandor snarled and went towards them; yanking the larger boy off and holding him slightly raised above the ground before letting him fall to the floor. He grabbed the younger boy by the arm and stood him up. 

“Next time use his strength against him, he’ll tire eventually,” Sandor rasped, and the younger boy nodded, eyes wide.

Sandor began to walk back to where Sansa was stood but stopped in his tracks. 

Two men were talking to Sansa, grinning as they leaned towards her, a little too close for Sandor’s liking. Sansa was trying to smile, to keep her mask up, but she stepped backwards as the two men continued inching towards her. One of the men suddenly reached out and stroked her hip. 

Sandor growled and marched towards the two of them. He stood behind the man who touched Sansa, Sandor’s huge shadow looming over him. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder with a vice-like grip and leaned close to his ear.

“Touch her again,” Sandor murmured. “And I will flay the skin off your body while you scream.”

The man froze and nodded stiffly. Sandor released him and the two of them scampered off. Sansa looked so relieved to see him and she stepped towards him, as though wishing to remain close.

“Even after all these years you’re still protecting me,” she said with a weak laugh.

“Just like old times,” he scoffed.

Sansa looked around nervously. “Can we go back?”

Sandor nodded and the two of them began the long walk back to the palace. He noticed that she was still trembling slightly from the ordeal.

“So why did you come to Dorne?” Sandor asked. 

Sansa chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment and Sandor’s gaze turned on her mouth, glistening slightly with moisture, before making himself look forward instead.  
“Well,” the little bird began. “I was rather lost for a while; I had managed to escape from Lord Ba- Littlefinger, and I remember sitting on the docks in Gulltown and realising that I had nowhere to go. All my life I’ve been pushed and pulled, like a boat caught out at sea in a storm. And now that the waters were calm, I felt lost.

“Then, and it was the strangest thing, upon one of the boats at the dock was a crew bound for Dorne in the service of Queen Daenerys. On board was a red priest who was very kind and he asked me where I was going, to which I said I didn’t know. The priest told me all about her grace’s good nature and I found myself wanting to see her with my own eyes; I’ve seen cruel queens and kind women but never a combination of the two. It felt like hope, like my little boat’s sails had finally lifted. It seemed to me that that priest knew who I was, despite giving him a different name; perhaps that was why he helped me. I travelled with the crew to Dorne and here I am.” 

Sandor stared Sansa, once again struck by how different she was now. 

He smiled at her. “Good for you.”

“Her grace is kind and gentle, I truly feel happy and safe serving her, the safest I’ve felt in a long time.”

“But you know,” Sandor begun slowly. “Have you ever thought about becoming Sansa Stark again?”

“If I did, I would be Sansa Stark, the head of House Stark and Lady of Winterfell,” she gave a far away smile.

They lapsed into silence as they reached the palace gardens, rows of lemon trees lay before them, filling the air with a sweet and citrusy fragrance. 

“If you ever did retake your name, you would hold the power of the North and if you raised your banners for Queen Daenerys, she would have the strength of Dorne, those still loyal to House Targaryen and the North. You could destroy the Lannisters for what they did to you and your family.”

Sansa stopped and looked up at him sadly, wrapping her arms around her middle, as if protecting herself from unseen nightmares. “But then I would be dragged back into the game,” she whispered.

Sandor stopped and put his hand on her head, feeling her soft hair underneath his fingers.

“Do as you like, little bird,” he murmured.

She smiled gratefully at Sandor and they continued towards the palace. He had to admit that a part of him had wanted her to fight, to take back all that they had taken from her, but another part of him was grateful she wouldn’t. He wanted to keep her safe and close. Sandor had parted from her once and he refused to do it again.

 

That night Sandor sat hunched over the fire, a flask of wine in his hand. Since his time on the Quiet Isle, Sandor no longer felt the need to drown himself, and his anger, in drink but the odd drop here and there didn’t hurt. Besides, with Sansa so close to him he was finding it hard to relax and the wine helped with that. This wasn’t like in King’s Landing when his duties lay with King Joffrey; here they lay with Daenerys and, in Sandor’s eyes, her red haired handmaiden as well, who so often caught the attention of the men in court. 

Sandor took a drag from the flask as Ser Barristan came over and sat in the chair opposite, letting out a sigh as he did so. Sandor gave the faintest of nods at the old knight which he returned. They sat in silence for a while until Ser Barristan cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair, kneading his hands.

“That girl,” he began slowly, and Sandor stiffened. “I know who she is.”

Sandor eyed Ser Barristan warily; though he had no respect for knights, he admired Selmy as a warrior and believed that if there was ever such thing as a true knight he would look something like Barristan the Bold. 

Ser Barristan looked into the flames, perhaps recalling past memories. “Her father was a good man,” he said quietly, before returning his gaze to Sandor. “Keep her safe.” He stood up and turned to go. “Gods know she’s suffered enough already.”

Sandor watched as the old knight left the room and gave a small smile, already having vowed to do so all those years ago in the little bird’s cage as she sang him a song and he wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have Sansa raise her banners to Daenerys but as I was writing her answer to Sandor, the line 'but then I would be dragged back into the game' came out instead and I knew that, in my opinion, that would be her true answer.


	3. Maybe we Started this Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for A Feast for Crows~

Sansa sat on the floor in the queen’s chambers plaiting Daenerys’s hair, which had grown back quickly. It was early evening and Sansa could see the pink sky outside the window, letting in a cool breeze. The dragons slept in the adjoining room so Daenerys had them beside her, stroking them as Sansa did her hair. Rhaegal had curled up behind Sansa so her back rested against his scales and she could feel his deep breaths against her spine. Sansa began to add tiny violet flowers to the plait, admiring the way they brought out Daenerys’s eyes. 

The two of them had grown close over the last month and they oft shared a bed, talking of Westeros and Sansa would tell the queen all about King’s Landing and the North, being careful to not say anything that might expose her identity. All the while Daenerys would listen, her eyes wide at the vivid descriptions Sansa gave. 

Sansa had come to love Daenerys as an older sister; she was fierce and strong like Queen Cersei, yet kind too and there were no hidden lies behind her smiles like Cersei’s. They discovered that they had much in common and confided in one another about men and family.

Sansa often found herself staring at the door, knowing that Sandor Clegane stood on the other side. Seeing him again after so many years was like having a piece of her old life handed back to her; slightly frightening and yet Sansa found it comforting seeing his scowling face around the palace. She was no longer afraid of his scars; she had meant what she said about him being gentler and it was true Sansa had seen the stuff of true nightmares. She thought back to the look on Joffrey’s face as his life was choke out of him, the fear and panic that had washed over Sansa at the thought of her maidenhead being broken after her marriage, watching her aunt fall backwards out of the Sky Door and hurtling to her death, Peytr’s grinning face with his eyes so full of desire. When comparing those horrific incidents to seeing a couple of scars and a sneer on a man’s face, it seemed almost silly that she had once been afraid. 

Now that the fear had dissolved, Sansa was able to look upon Sandor’s face clearly and was surprised at her finding him attractive. She felt that she shouldn’t find him handsome and yet she did all the same. Sansa found herself blushing whenever in his company and feeling her heartbeat quicken at the slightest of touches. She felt like a stupid little girl whenever it happened and hoped that Sandor hadn’t noticed, though she doubted he hadn’t. Sandor noticed everything.

Presently Daenerys turned around and Sansa realised she had asked a question.

Sansa shook her head, snapping herself out of her daze. “Forgive me, your grace, my mind was elsewhere.”

Daenerys smiled at her coyly. “Someone on your mind?”

Sansa blushed. “N-No.”

The queen laughed. “Safaya, I see you are a bad liar.”

Sansa’s flush deepened, spreading to her neck and chest.

“Don’t worry, you are a woman after all,” Daenerys said. “I find we are often attracted to the people who shouldn’t be or the people we least expect.”

Sansa paused and looked at Daenerys, who was smiling into the distance and Sansa wondered whether Daenerys had ever felt the same as she did about Sandor.

“If I may ask, your grace, what do you mean?”

Daenerys looked back at Sansa for a moment then gestured for her to turn around so she could plait her hair too, and began to untangle it with her hairbrush. Sansa felt like a young girl again remembering how her mother used to brush her hair for her and she found it comforting.

Daenerys sighed. “When I was young I had a brother, Viserys. He was very cruel to me and would often taunt me and hurt me.”

Sansa stiffened, thinking how much he sounded like Joffrey.

“He had his eyes on the iron throne for as long as I can remember,” Daenerys continued. “It was all he would ever talk about as we grew up; that one day he would rule Westeros as its rightful king, but all I wanted was go home.”

Daenerys put the hairbrush down and began separating Sansa’s hair out into three strands for the plait.

“But in order to retake Westeros, Viserys needed an army. He made a deal with a Dothraki khal, Khal Drogo, that Viserys would sell me to him for the army he needed.”

Sansa gasped, wondering how on earth a brother could do that, she could never imagine any of her siblings doing that to her.

“When I first met Khal Drogo I felt sick with fear. He was _huge_ ,” Daenerys laughed. “He was known as the most fearsome khal in the land and I was terrified when it came to the bedding,” Her voice became soft. “I thought he would hurt me and just use me for his pleasure, but he was very gentle. After that night he took care of me and treated me like a queen. He was fearless and brave and I grew to love him, my sun and stars, I miss him every day.” 

“What happened?” Sansa breathed.

Daenerys paused in plaiting Sansa’s hair and took a deep breath before continuing. “He was taken from me, suddenly and unfairly.” Sansa heard the queen’s breath hitch in her throat as she continued. “And that is why, Safaya, I want you to promise me that when you find someone that truly brings you happiness, who makes you feel alive and safe, you must cling to them.”

Sansa turned around to face Daenerys, who took Sansa’s shoulders, eyes shining with emotion. “Grab hold and don’t let go because the gods are cruel and you’ll never know how long your happiness will last until it is snatched away from you.” 

Sansa smiled sadly at Daenerys and took her hands in hers, giving them a squeeze. Sansa had found comfort in the queen’s words, yet she was also reminded of just how little she knew of her queen, how little she knew of the pain tucked away in Daenerys’s heart. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said.

Upon sensing Daenerys’s sudden emotion, the dragons stirred and nuzzled her elbow and neck making her laugh. 

“I think I shall spend some time with my dragons,” Daenerys said, smiling.

Sansa excused herself. As she made her way to her favourite spot in the palace, Sansa made a detour to the kitchen, wondering whether they had any leftover lemon cakes. As she walked, she tried to ignore the looks the men gave her, as though undressing her with their eyes. Sansa covered her chest self consciously. She was wearing a thin, floaty pink dress with an open back and high collar and Sansa suddenly felt very exposed. She touched her hair gently and reminded herself to take the plait out later. 

Sansa loved the queen’s palace here in Dorne. It was so open and cool with its cream walls and marble floors. Due to the time, it was fairly quiet with only a few people wandering about attending their business. Sansa walked with a smile, feeling happy and at peace. Of course, Dorne was not free from pain and suffering, and nor was Sansa or Daenerys by any means, yet she felt content and it felt nice to just simply enjoy herself. 

The kitchen did indeed have lemon cakes and so Sansa took a platter out to her favourite spot; the queen’s private garden. An intricately designed fence ran around the garden giving it privacy, yet it still felt open. The grass was a vibrant green and there was a little stream at the bottom. Sansa settled down and dipped her feet into the cool water, looking out across Sunspear. The smell of spices wafted up from the markets and she closed her eyes.

Sansa thought on all that Daenerys had said and found comfort and relief in her words. It was good to know that she was not alone, as though she were being supported. Upon hearing how Khal Drogo had seemed frightening but acted gently, Sansa began to wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like if Sandor held her. She imagined how it would feel to have his strong arms around her, would he feel hard like the armour he wore or soft like how her family would hug her goodnight? What would it be like if he kissed her, his lips; would it be a gentle kiss or an urgent one; as if making up for lost time? She imagined Sandor’s hands in her hair as he grinned at her, pressing his lips against hers once more. Sansa opened her eyes and found herself smiling, she laughed and took a bite of one of the lemon cakes. 

That was how Sandor found her.


	4. The Future's in Our Hands

Sandor strode through the castle, his cloak trailing behind him, as he searched for the little bird. He found it maddening having to stay on the other side of that door throughout the day knowing Sansa lay on the other side. Sandor wanted to see her; he would find an excuse later.

He walked through a corridor on the first floor, paused, and walked back slightly. There was a large open door frame with a black gate separating the palace from a small garden. Sandor’s breath caught in his throat slightly as he saw Sansa sitting on the grass wearing that dress he had grown so fond of; revealing her slender, pale back. Her auburn hair was piled into a plait embroidered with tiny flowers, and put to the side, exposing her delicate neck.

Sandor smiled slightly and walked into the garden. Sansa spun round and smiled at his approach. He sat down next to her and stretched out on the grass, raising an eyebrow at the crumbs littering a silver plate beside her.

“Still fond of your lemon cakes I see,” he grinned.

Sansa giggled. “Of course.”

“Your hair’s different.”

Sansa blushed. “Ah, I forgot about that.”

Sandor watched as she began to unravel the plait; the tiny flowers falling into her lap as her delicate fingers threaded through her auburn locks.

“How are you finding the dragons?” She asked, keeping her gaze on the plait.

Sandor frowned. “They haven’t taken a liking to me.”

Sansa laughed, tilting her head back slightly as she did so. 

“Still, they make my job of guarding her grace a little easier.”

“That’s true,” Sansa said, smiling.

“You seem fine around them though.”

“You’re forgetting I had a direwolf as a pet when I was younger,” Sansa said, smiling wistfully into the distance for a moment.

They sat in silence and after a while it seemed to Sandor that Sansa was trying to ask him a question, but was unsure of how to come about it. He watched with amusement as she opened and closed her mouth several times, seeming almost frustrated.

“Why did,” Sansa paused. “Why did you come to my room that night?”

Sandor stared at her, his mouth tight.

He scratched his head and looked away. “I had too much to drink, I don’t remember,” he muttered.

But of course, he did remember.

How could Sandor ever forget the way he had stared up at those twisted, green flames. It wasn’t usual fire; it wasn’t candlelight and it wasn’t a campfire; the flames seemed to be almost reaching towards him like some fearsome creature crawling out of a nightmare. He had stood there, incapable of movement. Suddenly he was that little boy again; helpless against the raging fire once more. 

Sandor had tried to drown his fears in wine but the flames and the fear had begun to choke him. He had looked up and seen the little bird’s cage swinging above the flames and knew where he could go. He couldn’t let his men see him like that so he had climbed the stairs to the little bird’s tower, away from the flames, feeling safer with each step. Sandor opened the door and found she wasn’t there. With a sigh he had collapsed onto the bed, finding peace in Sansa’s smell. He longed for that gentle presence to be beside him; to calm the storm raging inside him, or at least distract him from it. He had closed his eyes and clung to her presence like a small prayer. 

Sandor had never dreamt that he would meet Sansa ever again and yet here she was, more beautiful than ever; her red hair like cinnamon in the evening light. She was beautiful, unafraid and sat beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Sandor looked down at his lap. “Do you resent me for not trying to protect you more back then?”

Sansa looked at him, a sad expression etched on her face. She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that,” she said, giving a feeble smile.

Wordlessly, Sandor put his other hand on hers and held it there. He watched as a small blush began to creep across Sansa’s cheeks and she broke away awkwardly. She then suddenly glanced up at Daenerys’s room for some reason. As she did so, with her other cheek revealed, Sandor noticed that there was a cake crumb on her jaw line.

He chuckled. “You have a crumb on your cheek.”

Sansa squealed and brushed furiously at the opposite cheek, her blush deepening.

Sandor laughed at her attempt and sat closer to her. “Come here,” he said in his low voice.

Still smiling, he wiped the crumb off; holding her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. Sansa held her breath as Sandor continued stroking her cheek slightly.   
He admired the way her blush fell prettily on her snow white cheeks. Sansa looked up at him with her blue eyes that seemed darker than usual and licked her lips ever so slightly. She then leaned up towards him and kissed him softly on the lips, breaking off with a small smile, looking away shyly.

Sandor stared at her, barely able to register the kiss before it was over. 

Sansa fiddled with a strand of hair, her gaze downcast. “I don’t want us to be separated, I don’t want you to leave again,” she said. 

Sandor looked at Sansa sadly. She was afraid to be abandoned again, to be alone again, to have her happiness dragged from her again. He would not let that happen.  
He gently cupped her cheek and brought her face close to his.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sansa.” 

The intimacy of Sandor using her name made Sansa gasp slightly and to Sandor it felt like the last remaining wall between them had fallen away. The girl in front of him was not a bird, nor wolf, nor Stark, nor Safaya, nor Lady nor handmaiden. She was Sansa and that was all he wanted.

Sansa smiled up at him as if this man with the blood stained hands and scarred face was her saviour. Sandor brought her to him and kissed her deeply, putting his other hand on her neck. For a moment Sansa seemed immobilised by his lips pressed against hers, but she then rested her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating against her.

Sandor realised, with a far away thought, that Sansa tasted of lemons.


End file.
